


Quite Enough

by windandthestars



Category: Sanctuary (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:18:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/pseuds/windandthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had invited him, asked him along to this meeting for a reason, not a replacement, a friend but not a confidant.  A lover?  Will’s not sure he’s fond of that idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quite Enough

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [sleight of hand and twist of fate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/311052) by [cerie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerie/pseuds/cerie). 



Past protégé, a reject, he wonders and then discards the possibility. There’s no air of defeat about this man, no weariness in the way he meets her eye. A friend than and a good friend given the warmth of Magnus’ smile, but not a confidant, she doesn’t move to embrace him, in fact she stands back, not aloof, but distant all the same.

Not a protégé then. A replacement, for him. No. He’s worked for Magnus long enough to know she would never betray him. He’s not worried about that. She had invited him, asked him along to this meeting for a reason, not a replacement, a friend but not a confidant. A lover? Will’s not sure he’s fond of that idea. He pauses long enough in his train of thought to note the quick way the other man’s eyes flick over him keen, observing.

“Magnus?”

“Will, this is Sherlock, an old friend of mine.”

“Sherlock? The Sherlock Holmes?”

“Yes, right,” Sherlock continues, circumventing a good portion of the conversation. “Nice to meet you. Helen conveniently forgot to mention she had a protégé. Interesting. Did you receive the note I sent? John’s rather incapable of remembering the post when he goes out for the milk in the morning.” The last bit is directed at Magnus, for which Will is thankful as he suddenly finds himself playing catch up.

“Yes, I have the lab set up. You do remember where it is, don’t you?”

“Two lefts, down a flight of stairs, a sharp right, second door on the left. The table at the center of the room wobbles, the microscope is miscalibrated, and the air conditioning is a bit balmy for my taste.”

“Right.” Magnus agrees, “if you need anything you have my number.”

*

It’s Will, not Magnus, that Sherlock tracks down later that afternoon. While Will’s expecting more complaints, the overhead lights buzz, the food that had been sent down was cold, too mushy, not salty enough, instead he once again finds himself the subject of Sherlock’s curious gaze.

“She’s fond of you. I don’t understand.”

“Thanks,” Will offers uncertainly and Sherlock scoffs.

“Helen for all her eccentricities has proven up until now to be predictable, you,” Sherlock pauses to consider him for a moment, “do not fit that pattern. You’re clearly infatuated with her, despite your inward denial, and yet she has not taken you to bed with her as she is so fond of saying. One hour, her quarters, wear,” Sherlock gestures at Will’s current wardrobe, jeans and a faded blue sweatshirt, “that.”

*

He shows up, not because he has any idea what’s going on, but precisely because he doesn’t. Will’s fond of a mystery, but only one he can solve, and Sherlock at the present moment is still beyond his comprehension.

He knocks and then enters, almost stumbling back through the door in the same instant. Magnus dressed in shimmering black silk is settled on her knees at Sherlock’s feet, her lips red and swollen, eyes smoldering as she turns toward the sound of the opening door.

“Will,” she breathes and he feels his hands begin to tremble, need and desire mixed with confusion. Sherlock’s trousers, charcoal and neatly pressed, are still zipped and buttoned, Magnus’ lipstick untouched.

“I assume you know how to do away with that.” Sherlock gestures lazily in Will’s direction and Magnus rises to her feet.

She stands before him for a moment, watching him, seeking permission Will supposes although he’s not sure what she expects from him. He could never tell her no, would never want to, and yet there’s still a part of him that wonders. He had known, what it was he was walking into, as much as he wanted to pretend he had only suspected, he had walked in here knowing and yet he can’t find the words to tell her, yes.

She tugs at his zipper, tiny teeth whining as she drags it down, pushing away the heavy material, to yank at his t-shirt. Slow, he’s expecting Sherlock to say, but the man seems content to watch this, to register the way Will’s breathing skips and hops, his heart thrumming wildly in his chest. Magnus’ hands disappear and his jeans slide down his legs.

“Fuck,” he whispers and then swears again more loudly as Magnus’ lips close around his cock. It’s pornographic, the things he whispers to her with his hands tangled in her hair, but he finds he’s enjoying that, enjoying Sherlock’s unwavering gaze and the occasional falter in his carefully measured breathing.

Sherlock gasps, once, the first unfiltered response Will has seen from him since they had met hours before in the foyer. It takes some effort, but he pulls back from Magnus, a hand under her elbow prompting her to rise to her feet.

He kisses her then before he can change her mind, teeth knocking with the force of it. She’s breathing hard when they break apart, eye lashes brushing against her cheeks as she turns to glance over her shoulder toward Sherlock.

Sherlock. Will guides her closer to the other man. He’s standing close enough to him now that they could both reach out and touch Magnus, slide their hands over her sweat damp skin. It’s not the most ideal position with his back pressed against the wall, but it’s the same configuration they had been in and that had seemed to suit Sherlock, his curiosity, well enough.

Will means to take it slow, to make it last because he wants to remember this, to relish this, but it’s impossible to think with Magnus pressed up against him, her breasts against his chest and then her knee slipped into the crook of his elbow.

He comes as Sherlock sighs, an oddly contented companion for the strangled sound Will makes, the note of disappointment in the breath Magnus releases. He’s done his part Will figures as far as Sherlock’s concerned, but he’s not finished, sliding to his knees he presses his lips to her clit, his tongue lapping at the cum that seeps from between her thighs.

Magnus gasps, nails scrapping against his shoulders and then comes, tiny whimpers unlike anything he would expect from her. Sherlock this time is silent as Will hums and pulls away reluctantly, standing only when Magnus tugs him to his feet to kiss him again.

“Wow,” Will breathes and Magnus laughs. 

“Thank you,” Sherlock agrees and Will shakes his head, carefully mimicking one of Magnus’ favorite expressions, dismissing them.

“That’ll be quite enough.” Not enough.


End file.
